


meant for

by orphan_account



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:42:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and everything inside him screams for a second life that he's pretty sure got snuffed out before his prime. </p><p>or how axel realizes that his life is going nowhere and he's got it <em>bad</em> for the neighbor in apartment 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	meant for

**Author's Note:**

> this is old but it still sort of has a nice shininess to it i like i guess  
> also: a miracle i didnt abuse italics this time around
> 
> (gratuitous semicolon and comma abuse tho, whoops)

His apartment is too loud and the dim hum from an air conditioning unit too many years too old to run in the background makes for an odd feeling.

He feels old.

There isn't anything on the static filled television worth watching and his green eyes flick from the screen to the open window. It should get closed, but the dead weight in his bones, a black goop that bleeds desolation and aching makes it harder to move. A hand runs through his hair, catching on red knots he isn't sure how they came to be; but are. The couch he sits on creaks when he leans back, a whisper-sigh of subconscious desire for something to happen—something worth rising for.

It hits him when the static on the screen of the television goes black and the power turns off. A curse leaves his lips, parting like drying seas, and his eyes shift as they search the darkness for an answer he's not quite sure he wants spoken.

It's quiet, and he is too old for this shit.

Couch complaining once his weight is lifted off, the redhead stumbles through the labyrinth of his apartment and the sparse obstacles he sat for decor; and pauses at the tiny kitchenette, digging for a lighter he should have kept on him always—without it he feels empty, a remnant of something foreign yet all too familiar. He catches the weight of a lighter and flicks it, green eyes illuminating like a cat's before he's plunged back into the home that once was the darkness. He hates how familiar it sounds on the tip of his tongue, and he tastes bitter ash and soot when he lights the candle on the counter.

Leaning against the counter he counts the times the flame on the tiny tealight candle flickers; and reminisces for a time where he didn't feel at home in the dark. He counts four, five, six, seven, and his throat catches on eight—a feeling that he missed something somewhere that makes his bones ache for the warmth of an inferno and the taste of smoke in his lungs—and he hears a distinct knock on his apartment door. He is half naked and his eyes snap to the door warily, green emeralds narrowed into sharp daggers as he treads lightly to answer.

The eyehole is black.

He doesn't understand the sight before him and the comforting weight of his own hand through his hair gives him the strength to slide the lock slowly open and ease the door away from its position.

Oceanic eyes and sunshine hair greet him.

It's nothing like the romance novels he reads in the back of bookstores, an attempt to fill the ache in his chest where he jokes no heart sits, and the emptiness in his chest isn't from lack of somebody—for how could anybody love a nobody? His lungs cannot fill with air and his voice borders on desperate. The oceanic eyes that stare up at him are confused, and there is nothing stopping him from breathing a plea from his lips.

"Do you have any candles? The power went completely out for all—"

" _Roxas_."

It is a silent moment before the other male narrows his blue eyes and it makes green eyes flinch away. He isn't sure what snaps him out of his quiet staring, but he shakes his head, smoothing his red hair from his eyes and grins—nothing new and like nothing happened.

He replies, "Shit, yeah, sorry—" and disappears into the dark abyss of his apartment, illuminated only by the single candle in his kitchenette; and when he returns, he gives the blond a handful of candles, "—aren't the biggest but it's all I got."

Shrugging he leans against the doorframe, the dark shadows created by emergency lights making everything in the hall appear more sinister; and he wants to cringe. Blue eyes wrinkles his nose, laughing quiet and like how the waves sound against rocks; and he feels his chest grow cold and heavy.

It is familiar and his chest aches.

The neighbor thanks him, murmured on corals that make everything that transpired feel like a page out of a novel. He closes and locks his door, leaning thin frame against the door and sighing deeply and shakily. He slides down to the floor and buries his head in his knees.

He hates that he remembers this ache.

He hates that he knows only one name on his lips, while the flames give him a home and numbers up to thirteen dance in his mind. 


End file.
